One Three Ring Circus Act
by RaptureNRuin
Summary: They say they're blessed with magic. That the six masks of the Cirque du Masques are as much a burden as they are a gift. That the young men that wield them may be beautiful and affluent, but they're also cursed. And they say there's one more left...


**Author Note: **New fic. First real attempt at an Ouran one. Obviously AU because of all the fantasy elements. But I'm going to try my best to represent the actual characters for who they are, not for who I need them to be. Just to start out, if I manage to keep going with this one, it'll slowly move from a T rating into an M one for possible romance situations. Haruhi's narrating. As for who she'll end up with, you'll just have to read and find out. And I'll have to write and find out. Happy reading! R&R is much appreciated.

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"Of course, sir. I believe you'll find the new seating arrangements much to your liking. We've specifically cleared a section of the stadium just for you and your guests. After the show you'll be free to see and speak with the performers."

The performers. He meant the men in the masks—troupe members of the greatest circus show on earth. I lifted my eyes and noticed the bi-chrome color scheme of the main tent—strangely alluring in spite of all the black and white stripes, offset by the orange glow of lights that showcased nearby games, concession stands, separate acts and of course, the line. Ouran's very own Cirque du Masques. French for _Circus of Masks. _Why they picked French, of all languages, was beyond me. The performers weren't French, they didn't speak French, and we weren't even in France. But then, a circus wasn't meant to make sense. Probably. Maybe. I had never been to one before so I wouldn't know. I hadn't even wanted to come. The cost was too high, the food too expensive, the noise too loud. Only the rich could afford tickets to this place—it wasn't, after all, a typical circus act with average performers and occasional feats of fancy. The performers themselves were high class. If Dad hadn't procured our tickets in a contest, neither of us would ever be able to afford to go.

_I wish you could see it, Mom. _ _This place glows._ _Even if there is too much black and white._

As I looked over, I realized that the man speaking near the entrance of the tent was, in fact, one of the performers. He bowed elegantly, his arm crossed over his waist while his glasses slid precariously down his nose and perched there, his dark eyes betraying just enough warmth to counteract the smooth way in which he attempted to usher the high-paying crowd inside. His hair was as black as most of his suit, his bangs falling gracefully over his forehead and accenting his eyes. Most people probably missed the agitation that sparked behind his gentle smile. "Not to worry sir," he continued. He was speaking to an older gentleman in charge of a group of young women, all of whom were giggling and whispering amongst themselves. Some were blushing. Regardless, their group was holding up the line. We would all be heading inside if the large group hadn't stopped to discuss things with him.

My brow twitched. Hopefully this would be worth it.

At least this guy knew how to deal with them. The finesse in which he handled a group of elegantly dressed and chattering young women reminded me of the way an experienced lion might casually brush off the exuberance and energy of a handful of misbehaving cubs. He had eyes only for the leader of that litter—in this case, an elderly man with broad shoulders, a gray beard trimmed down to a fine line around his jaw and the slightest signs of a crease in his brow that would distinguish his age. If his luxurious suit and tie didn't give him away as one born of privilege, the disdainful way in which he sometimes eyed things—including me—might actually have done that for him. As it was, I ignored those scrutinizing glances. Let people think what they like. I didn't care. "As I'm sure you know," the man continued, still with a soft smile, "your party shall be perfectly safe. We're gentlemen here." As if to prove his point, he gestured towards the front of the tent. "Right this way, if you please."

Maybe I imagined the annoyed glint in his eye.

"Hm," the other said thoughtfully. I sighed and put my hands into my pockets, looking over my shoulder. Dad meant to meet me here an hour ago. Either he hadn't shown up yet or he was already inside, waiting for me. To make matters worse, we were being held up at the door because of a group of giggling young women and their escort—likely the father of one of them. Why couldn't they just see that the poor guy wanted to get them inside as soon as possible so he could get on with this job and prepare for the performance? As I breathed out another sigh, my breath plumed on the air. It was freezing outside. I made sure to wear layers before coming out, but I hadn't expected it to be this cold. My sweater was too thin and the shirt I wore underneath it did nothing to stave off the late autumn season any better. Jeans and tennis shoes faired about the same as my shirt and sweater. I clenched my fingers into fists in my pockets in an attempt to create some warmth. Thinking.

_Why did I bother to come here? _

It didn't help. As much as I wanted to go home and study, spending time with Dad was equally important. He was always working. And I felt horrible sometimes, for not being there as often as I would have liked. If he wanted me here, I'd be here.

"What about the masks?" he grumbled. "I hear you have one left. That's dangerous, isn't it?" He stroked his chin thoughtfully, looking into the depths of the tent almost warily. I could tell from the way his eyes combed over the front, taking in all the black and white color scheme, that he was assessing its net worth and debating over whether or not it was luxurious enough to merit his attention. Damn rich people.

"Ah, I see," the other said. "Let me assure you that the masks are harmless. Giving them up or away is impossible. And the abilities don't work like an infection or disease. You can't c_atch _it from the performers. And as you've noticed, all of the performers are men. The masks themselves prefer certain qualities in a host. I promise you, your daughters will be very safe."

"But you _do_ have another one."

"Unfounded rumors, if you'll forgive my saying so." I raised a brow. For a split second, I thought something darkened in his gaze while his flawless, tranquil smile faltered. Was he lying? Before I could think on it, another voice interrupted.

"Oh, can you see him yet, Rebecca? I hear the ringmaster's simply _gorgeous_," one of the girls breathed. "Blonde hair, blue eyes." She raised her hands up to either side of her face as she giggled. Her cheeks turned a hot red. "And we'll get to see him up close!" She let out an airy sigh.

What was with these girls? This whole place was insane.

I watched the two men, rather than listen any further to the girls. What this guy really meant to say was that the masks didn't choose women. The magic preferred men, and it just so happened to have found "hosts" in these individuals. I could remember flipping through a newspaper a few weeks back and reading something about the abilities. Some of the features included a "strongman", a "mind reader", and something like a stunt artist that could perform the impossible. At the time, the details seemed unimportant. For a brief second, I hesitated, wondering how it all worked. Was it real or fake? Masks with magic and men who were "blessed" or "cursed". Seemed like a hoax to me, but then, I wouldn't be sure until I had a good look at it myself. Either way, it sold well. Had to give them that much.

I pulled my hand out of my pocket to push my glasses further up my nose. If I didn't know any better, the performer had temporarily stiffened before answering that question. Whether the small group picked up on it didn't matter. He recovered quickly with a soft smile, the light returning to his gaze as he gestured towards the front of the tent. Then, a second later, he reached for the hand of one giggling young woman in an elegant, purple dress and pressed his lips to her fingers, eyes flashing as she flushed an embarrassed red. "Our King would be delighted to meet you and your guests. He's always eager to please." Very smooth recovery. Compliments spilled from his mouth, but in a cool and detached way that suggested he knew tricks of the trade that he hadn't quite revealed yet. He definitely knew how to win over the girls. "Lady Erica." He looked her in the eye. "We've saved you a seat at the very front."

The girls burst into giggles. I almost jumped. "It's just like they say!" "He read your mind!" "You didn't tell him your name?" "That's amazing!" Their words meshed together until I couldn't understand them anymore or figure out who was saying what. Was it really that impressive that he knew a name? No. Mind reading, fortune telling, palm reading, horoscopes. A good conman could pull it off easy. So I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and go back home. Or bang my head against the nearest table. I promised Dad I'd go and stay for the show. All I had to do was focus on that until this was over.

At least, for now, the girls and their guardian were satisfied. Their escort led the way to the tent and I felt the growing line behind me let out an appreciative, collective breath. Only the performer stopped short of entering and bowed respectfully before he returned to the front of the line. Finally. We could get moving again. But no sooner had I stepped forward to go through, when he stopped me. He touched my shoulder. "Strange," he said in that cool, collected voice. "You don't usually come here, do you?"

As he led me out of the line, "Huh?" was the smartest response I could muster.

"I don't believe I've seen you before. Yet, I feel as if I should know you," he said thoughtfully. "You're definitely not part of the usual clientele."

"Wha—" I blinked as a group pushed past us, flashing their tickets over my shoulder to show him they had them. Clearly, nobody had the patience to wait anymore. He thanked them politely as they passed. It was then that I figured out what he meant.

"Oh, sorry. You must mean…nevermind. Here." I fished for my ticket down in the pocket of my pants, pulled it out and handed it to him. The paper shined silver in the dim glow of the lanterns and circus lights. Now that I was up close to him, I felt small in comparison. Not worried, but small. And very aware of the fact that I was underdressed. From afar, his dark suit didn't look all that expensive. Up close, however, was another matter. Not a single crease existed on the surface and it almost looked as soft as silk. I half wondered where he kept the mask he was famous for, when I realized that instead of wearing it in the typical fashion, he was sporting it just below his shoulder. It was fit securely to his left arm, held in place by dark straps that were almost invisible against his suit. I recognized that stark white color of it—that mask had featured in a newspaper article and of all the masks, his was perhaps, the most notorious. Why?

Because it looked nothing like one.

Even though I was up close, I struggled to see it for what it was. It was too small to obscure the whole face. The curves looked right, but also wrong. The article claimed that this mask was really a half mask. A piece worn only over the lower half of the face, from the bridge of the nose down to the chin. But there were no holes to aid with breathing. I couldn't see this guy wearing that mask for anything practical. There were no defining features or distinguishing marks on it at all. It was a blank slate. In fact, if it had been black, I might have thought it could make a half decent, if not useless, ninja mask. But even then, why have it? It was too clean. Completely unreadable. And yet. As the light filled his glasses and hid his gaze from view, I felt as if the emptiness reflected back in the mask was strangely appropriate. As if both master and mask appeared harmless, pristine and regal, but in reality, contained something much, much more below the surface.

While he examined my ticket, I tried to remember his name. The article had mentioned quite a few performers, maybe six or so. Which one had _this _mask though?

"Kyouya Ootori," he said casually. I tensed. "My name," he added, as if I hadn't pieced that together already. It wasn't that I couldn't figure that out when he mentioned it. Rather, I was too busy wondering whether or not he actually picked my brain for the unasked question before answering it. Then I shook my head and tossed the idea. Mind reading was impossible, even if they claimed he could. More likely, he was used to introducing himself and interpreting looks from customers and clients. He smiled and handed me back my ticket. "I apologize. We thought you might not show. Certainly weren't expecting you to come tonight."

Interesting. "Huh? Why's that?"

"While we host these contests once a month for the general public, there's a specific rule for them found on the back, requiring that you call ahead of time before you decide on a date—" he trailed off.

_Damn it, Dad. _Of course he'd overlook that part. I should have seen that one coming and checked the ticket or the contest rules myself.

I sighed. "Well if it's going to cause trouble, I'll just go home."

"No, that isn't necessary. It's just that the winners receive certain privileges—" he stopped. A rash of young women behind us burst into squeals so loud that I thought something terrible had happened. Even Kyouya's head whipped up, the glint of off of his glasses still shielding his eyes as his brow furrowed. I half expected him to bolt into action, so when he stayed put, I was actually taken aback. At least, until I saw what he saw.

The girls weren't in trouble. They were just swooning.

"Well, ladies. How do you like the act so far?" one voice purred. The second one added, his tone slightly lighter, "We were up all night, trying to perfect it." And then, together, their voices melding into a rhythm that made all the girls shiver, "Act two starts up in less than an hour." The two culprits eased their way through the cluster of young women gathered around them, one whispering under his breath, "Let's go, Kaoru. You'll get nervous if we're out here for too long." The other flushed a light red that almost matched his hair color, trying to keep an indifferent expression. He failed. His eyes began to tear up. The first young man—he looked _exactly like the other one_, they had to be twins—tilted his brother's chin up and looked into his eyes. The girls squealed some more. What in the world was going on?

"Kaoru, look at me."

"Hikaru, I…you know I can't help it. It's the lights and with everyone watching..." he said meekly, attempting to look away.

"Don't worry, Kaoru. I promised you, remember? I'll protect you." The one named Hikaru flashed a smooth grin. "Just make sure to keep your eyes on me tonight, alright?" More squeals. This was the strangest place on earth. I'd probably do everything in my power to stay away from it in the future.

"Ah, ladies," Kyouya said, stepping forward. "I see you've met our famous twins. Hikaru. Kaoru. I think if you're done, you should head inside and prepare for the show." It was impossible to miss the subtle suggestion in there. The twins turned in our direction as the young women shuffled past. The girls were still swooning and blushing over everything that had just happened and whispering excitedly about the show itself. I was relieved to watch them go. No more girlish squealing and confusion. As the twins drew closer, I realized they were dressed similarly to Kyouya. Save for the elegant white stripes that decorated the sleeves of their blazers and matched the bi-chrome color scheme. They were also actually wearing their masks the way they were meant to wear them. The two hooked arms as they stopped a few feet in front of us. I debated on whether or not to just slip by them and go find a seat. Or maybe run home and pretend I never came out in the first place.

"And Kyouya shows up to spoil the fun," the one named Hikaru said. His mask stood out and complemented the black and white colors of his suit. First, it molded perfectly to the upper half of his face, surrounding his eyes and highlighting the molten, golden-green color of his irises. In a lot of ways, that color was like topaz. It shined through, sparking with more mischief than I cared to think about. The part of the mask that covered his nose curved in sharp, but short "beak" that, when taken in with the blood red color of the surface and the gold color that rimmed the whole thing, reminded me of a bird. Gorgeous, blood red feathers curled out of the right side of his mask, each about a foot long and delicate; I thought I saw some gold shimmer amongst all that rich red, but it might have been the light.

His brother's mask was similar. At least, in structure. Except Kaoru's mask was deep, glacier blue and rimmed in silver paint. His eyes didn't have as much mischief burning in them, but there was slightly more openness to them, maybe a touch of heart that his brother had yet to learn how to show. Long, ocean blue feathers furled out of the left side of his mask. His smile matched his brother's perfectly. Together the twins were almost mirror images of each other. "We were just taking the ladies out for a tour," Kaoru added. "We had an extra hour so we thought…"

They both grinned and said, "Why not?"

I turned to go. Best to just pretend as if I hadn't seen anything. But I was curious and chanced a look over my shoulder before I left.

"We were also bored," Hikaru added, shrugging. Kaoru mimicked the movement. Together they chimed, "Not much to do until the show begins. What else were we supposed to do?" They blinked and looked my way. Crap. They saw me. "Huh? Who's that?"

The twins stepped around Kyouya and ended up between me and the front of the tent. "Wow, talk about strange. Look at these clothes," Hikaru said. Interest flashed in his eyes, betraying that criticizing tone. "No kidding," Kaoru said. "Maybe he's a commoner. We don't get many of those." I took a step back and checked nervously behind me. Only, my mind caught on the word _he _in that statement. They thought I was a boy? Huh. Oh well. In retrospect, it didn't matter compared to everything else that I was dealing with at the moment.

"Uh, look. I'm just…trying to see the show."

"_You _have a ticket?" They both chorused, brows rising.

"Yes, actually." That wasn't me that answered. I sighed in relief. It was about time he interrupted. "Our guest has won the contest. Normally I'd take care of everything myself, but something interesting has just occurred to me." Kyouya paused. "Where are Mori and Honey?"

"Hm?" Kaoru asked. He half turned to look at Kyouya. "I thought they were moving the—" he stopped. "Well Honey-senpai probably managed to get distracted. There are a lot of sweets out tonight for the guests. Wouldn't put it past him to forget and ditch it. "

"I thought we were supposed to know when one of the contests winners arrived?" Hikaru asked, changing the subject. I was starting to feel extremely self-conscious around these guys. Like a third wheel they refused to acknowledge. "Not that the boss won't meet him. But I thought you booked all of the ring front seats already. Where are we going to put him? And he's kind of…underdressed."

"Actually, I might be able to fit him in if we—" Kyouya began.

I sighed. "Look." All three actually listened and shifted their attention back to me. The twins stared passively back at me. "I don't really want to cause trouble. If it's a big deal, I can go home. Or you can just give me a seat with the rest of the audience. I don't really want to be that close to everything anyway. And I was actually waiting on someone else. My Dad has another ticket. He won them. We'd probably both be a lot happier if weren't up front."

I would, anyway. Dad would probably like the attention. _I don't know what I've gotten into here, Mom. _

"Hm." Kyouya's expression was unreadable. "No one else has showed up yet. But there's still some time before the show. There's a real possibility he'll be here." He lifted his hand to his lower chin, contemplating. "Are you absolutely sure you'd prefer a seat elsewhere? Up until now, we've kept our promises to the contest winners. You have a right to first class, ring-side seating, even if you'll stick out amongst the rest of our guests." He tacked on the last part in a lower tone, not berating, just observing. Still, aggravation burned through me. Not everybody was rich. Why did my clothes even matter so much? Kyouya seemed adamant on this though. "If you're sure, we can accommodate you. But I'd rather you experience the full package, like we promised. We have a dinner planned after the show that you're meant to attend as well..."

"Kinda weird you don't want to go, actually," the twins said. They were watching me with renewed interest. I was struggling not to sweat bullets—nobody was listening to me.

"Really. It's okay."

"Are you sure?" Kyouya asked again.

Positive. I said something along those lines, hoping that would be the end of it. As nice as the food would probably be at that dinner, I would rather avoid these guys for as long as possible. I couldn't imagine what the "King" would act like if these three were like this. Sitting with the regular audience sounded reasonable to me. And yet, the twins exchanged quiet looks as if I had just asked for something impossible and Kyouya was silent. Why? All I wanted was a seat way out of the way of everyone else. What was so strange about that?

"Well, what's your name? You didn't mention it." Hikaru asked. Just as I began to answer, I was interrupted.

"Haruhi. Haruhi Fujioka." Kyouya smiled and I tensed. I didn't find it remotely amusing that he somehow managed to figure that out without my having told him. "I'll show you to a seat. You two should check on Mori and Honey. If you'll come with me Fujioka," Kyouya said, gesturing towards the tent. He moved forward and stopped a few paces ahead, waiting for me. I hadn't moved from my spot. Hikaru and Kaoru were watching me again. I couldn't tell what they were thinking. Their mouths were drawn in thin, bored lines, but their eyes blazed into mine, as if searching for something that they couldn't see easily. Those masks weren't good at hiding most of their features, but I suddenly felt as if an invisible, new mask had slid into place over the real one, hiding everything from me in that one second. As I stepped around them to follow Kyouya, I heard Hikaru say something.

"Do you think, when he meant _interesting_ he meant..?"

"Don't know," Kaoru said. I imagined him shrugging at his brother, still holding that blank expression. Their eyes were on my back as I left—I could feel them watching. "But when _he _says something will be interesting…"

"It never really is," Hikaru finished. "Not in the usual way, at least." Just before I entered the tent, I looked back. The twins smiled slowly back at me. "Enjoy the show," they chorused. My brow twitched in agitation.

What in the hell did that mean? _Not in the usual way_? And what were they talking about? I growled under my breath and decided to ignore it. Rich people were crazy. This show had better be worth it.


End file.
